


Morning Has Broken

by opalmatrix



Category: Charlotte Sometimes - Penelope Farmer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: The next year at school, Charlotte starts to suffer from nightmares.  Is Clare to blame somehow?
Relationships: Charlotte Makepeace & Elizabeth (Charlotte Sometimes)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Morning Has Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summoninglupine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoninglupine/gifts).



> Thank you for reminding me of this old favorite. I hope this new episode in Charlotte's life is what you had in mind. Very helpful beta by [**whymzycal**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whymzycal/pseuds/whymzycal) and [**Lady_Ganesh**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh),

The light coming into refectory was milky but quite bright. Charlotte's eyelids kept sagging shut, trying to close it out. The scent of breakfast, toast and oranges and melting sugar, washed over her as she drifted off again. An elbow nudged her ribs, quite gently, but enough to wake her.

"Wake up, dreamy!" said Lesley. "Eat your porridge before it goes cold."

"I quite like cold porridge," said Nan. "It's very nice with treacle."

"In the summer, I expect," said Elizabeth. "In November, it's just glue with pretensions. Get on with it, Charlotte."

Her friend's voice was kind but firm. Charlotte forced her eyes open again and dutifully spooned up the oatmeal. It was still warm, so she got on well enough once she started. She wasn't sure she wanted to sleep again anyway, no matter what her eyes were trying to do. Something was moving back there in the darkness, something needy and deep.

It was Saturday, almost a week after Remembrance Day. Charlotte's new roommates were discussing what to do with the afternoon, which was free. They were old enough to be allowed to go down to the village this year, as long as they didn't have any demerits outstanding. "I think it's going to clear up," said Diane, with confidence. She and Elizabeth were neck-and-neck for first in their year at natural science.

"Yes, don't they say 'Fine before seven, rain by eleven'?" answered Nan. 

Elizabeth snorted. "Superstition," she stated. "But Di is right: it should be a fine day. The glass is rising."

"Did you actually go off and check the barometer before breakfast, Miss Newell?" said Lesley. "What a swot!"

"None of that," said Diane. "You want me to check your essay, don't you?"

Lesley tossed her head and pouted. "Just a bit of fun, Di."

"Don't make that face, Miss Cannon," said Nan. "You only look an infant. So it's settled, then? Walk to town right after dinner, go our ways for the shops, and meet at Lyons for tea at four?"

In the face of four murmurs of assent, Charlotte was silent. She poked at a bit of orange rind on her plate. "What about you, Charlotte?" said Elizabeth.

"Go on without me," Charlotte said after a moment. "I don't think I'd be much company."

"You do look a wet week," said Lesley, but her expression showed only concern. "P'rhaps you need to see Nurse Owens."

"No … no, I just slept badly for some reason," said Charlotte. She was saved by the bell for the first morning class, which she had with Nan. Fortunately, Art History was perhaps the easiest course on her schedule. She dreaded French Conversation, which came next.

At morning break, Elizabeth gave her a sharp look and persuaded her to eat a biscuit. Charlotte could not finish her milk. "Cheer up," said Diane. "At least we don't have Saturday tests, like that dismal prep school my brother Rob attends."

_There's something I need to do_ , Charlotte thought, as she pretended to touch up a page of her sketchbook in Art. The drawing teacher gave her a sharp look and shook her head.

By lunch, Charlotte was wearing what she hoped was an expression of calm interest. Lesley and Nan looked at her and then looked away. "This pie is an abomination!" said Lesley, loudly, poking at her plate. A prefect came over. "Cannon, that was rude and unnecessary," she said.

"Well, it is!" insisted Lesley. "Look, it's made Charlotte ill."

The older girl gave Charlotte a thorough looking-over. "I ought to send you to the infirmary, Makepeace," she said, at last. "You do look rather green."

"No, please no," Charlotte protested. "I'll be right as rain with a good night's sleep, truly I will, Miss Taylor."

Taylor frowned at the rest of the roommates. "You see what comes of midnight bun feasts? Look after each other, won't you?"

Every girl murmured appropriately, and Miss Taylor left them. Diane hissed at Lesley: "What was that about? Charlotte just needs some quiet!"

"Look, we have three younger ones at home! I know how to take care of children. Charlotte ought to see Nurse, she looks appalling. Mum would have my head if I didn't let her know that Valerie or Gwen looked like that at lunch."

Charlotte now felt embarrassed as well as ill. Elizabeth sighed. "I'll take her along to the infirmary as soon as you girls are off to town."

I can't go to the infirmary, thought Charlotte; I can't tell anyone what I need to do.

This was literally true, because she had no idea what that was: only that it was urgent.

After the others had left, Charlotte trailed after Elizabeth to the school infirmary. Part of the corridor was draped with tarpaulins and sheets, where some renovations were being done. At least the workmen weren't around: the banging and grinding had become an unwelcome part of the school's workday routine.

While Elizabeth waited in the outer office, Nurse Owens examined Charlotte at least as carefully as her family doctor would have done. "You haven't a fever," said the nurse, her round face worried. "But your hands are like ice. Were you having nightmares?"

"I think so," said Charlotte, although she couldn't actually remember any.

Nurse Owens measured some powder into a glass and then filled it up with water from the sink in the corner of the examination room. As she stirred the glass, the mixture foamed and fizzed. "Drink this," she directed Charlotte. Then she fetched a blanket and draped it around her patient's shoulders.

Charlotte found the drink bitter and yet refreshing. It was hard to get down the whole glassful, because it was quite cold, but the nurse was watching to see that her directions were followed. At the end, Charlotte hiccoughed and felt somewhat better: at least she didn't want to be sick any longer. "That's a good girl," said Nurse Owens. "Now I'm going to have you take a lie-down."

"Not yet," pleaded Charlotte. "Couldn't I just go to sleep in my own bed tonight?"

Nurse Owens frowned, an expression that didn't sit well on her pleasant face. How different she was from that tyrant in Emily and Clare's day. "All right, then," she said. "I'll have your friend take you for a bit of a walk on the grounds. It's a fine day; a bit of fresh air may do you good. The two of you will have tea here in the office with me. I don't want you tempted by rich foods for the rest of the day."

Elizabeth brightened when Charlotte came out and was pleased by the nurse's suggestion. "I'll get our coats, shall I?" she asked.

"Fetch a jersey for your friend as well," said Nurse Owen. "Keep warm, Charlotte."

The day had indeed turned bright and even a bit warm for November. Elizabeth and Charlotte walked slowly toward the pond, talking a bit at random: what parts they might be asked to play in the school concert at end of term, what they wanted for Christmas. The water shimmered before Charlotte's tired eyes, ruffled by the breeze that blew a last few errant leaves along the path and through the slats of the old bridge. An airplane boomed and roared overhead, the sound receding slowly. The handrail was warm under her fingers, and she gazed at the little ripples, shining and seething, and suddenly the wind went chill and the sky went dark and silent. She could not hear the plane.

Light and dark. Cold. Damp wool against her skin, pain in her head and chest. A wracking cough ripped through her. Her head was swimming, and she was falling.

"Charlotte! _Charlotte!_ "

Someone was shaking her. Charlotte found herself on her knees at the edge of one of the gaps in the bridge deck. Elizabeth crouched beside her, both hands on Charlotte's shoulders. "Charlotte," she said, breathless. "Can you stand up?"

"What happened?" Charlotte whispered.

"You let go of the railing and started coughing. Then you fell on your knees, hard. I thought you'd go right through the floor, it's that old and weak."

Charlotte stood up slowly, feeling weak herself. Her knees hurt. Elizabeth looked at her and winced. "Right. I'm taking you back to Nurse."

The wind was picking up, a proper November wind now, and clouds were coming in from the west. This had happened before, thought Charlotte. A leaf caught in her hair, and Elizabeth reached to pluck it out. Charlotte grabbed her wrist. "Clare is dying," she said.

Three hours later, Charlotte was lying in a strange bed in a little room in the infirmary. Her knees were washed and bandaged; she'd had a very plain meal of milk toast, applesauce, and a boiled egg; and Elizabeth had sat and read by her bedside until the nurse made her leave. Now she lay still, wrung out, watching glimpses of clouds scudding across the bottom of the moon through the thrashing tree branches, framed by the narrow window. Nurse Owens was giving instructions to the night nurse that had been called in to keep track of Charlotte until the doctor could come in the morning. 

"I understand," Charlotte heard the new nurse say. The woman had a kind voice with a foreign accent of some sort. The door opened, and both nurses came in. "This is Nurse Novicki, Charlotte," said Nurse Owens. "She will be looking after you and sleeping on a camp bed in the outer office. Call if you need her. I will see you in the morning, and we have a doctor coming at ten. I have spoken with your parents and assured them that we will take good care of you."

Nurse Novicki was short and angular, with gaunt cheeks, warm dark eyes, and greying hair under her neat cap. She smiled kindly at Charlotte and sat down in the chair Elizabeth had vacated, putting her big purse down on the floor beside her. Nurse Owens picked up the supper tray and went out, closing the door behind her. 

"Ah, I like the little soldiers," said Nurse Novicki, gesturing at the bedside table. Elizabeth had brought them down, to keep Charlotte company, she had said. "They are old, yes? From the Great War?"

"Even older than that," said Charlotte. "A friend … a friend's mother gave them to me." She was worried that the nurse would be surprised that a great girl like Charlotte was interested in toy soldiers, but Nurse Novicki seemed unconcerned.

"Do you need anything?" she asked. "Water? To use the toilet?"

"No," said Charlotte. Nothing seemed as urgent as the feeling inside of her, something that wanted and needed.

"You should sleep, then, little rose," said Nurse Novicki. She opened her bag and took out some knitting. "Sleep is always good."

Charlotte felt a little cold at the thought, but the faint click of the needles was surprisingly soothing. The wind whispered and roared outside, Nurse Novicki hummed softly, and Charlotte's eyelids fell closed.

The bed was hard, the medicine taste was bitter in her mouth. The pain was a spike through her head, half a dozen knives through her chest, and she couldn't get her breath. No one was there. She could not move, she could not speak. A dark trough seemed to open before her, and within it were hands, reaching for her, grasping her, pulling her. "Eyes blind, eyes blind …," moaned a voice, and then, higher and younger: "Emily, are you there? Emily!"

And there were indeed hands, holding her gently, rocking her. A soft voice was singing:

_You're my little baby, you're my little girl,_  
_You're my little lady, the treasure of my world …_

The bed was comfortable, there was no foul taste in her mouth. Her breath flowed easily, and only her head hurt. The night nurse was holding her, singing some lullaby in her own language, now. The wind whispered outside, and the moon was down. A soft, dim light fell into the little room from the infirmary office, shining on the two soldiers on the table.

"That's a good girl. That's fine now," said Nurse Novicki. She wiped Charlotte's face gently with a cloth, and Charlotte realized that she had been crying in her sleep.

"She's dying, nurse," whispered Charlotte. "Clare's all alone."

"No more of that now," said Nurse Novicki. "The doctor will fix. She is a very good doctor. Here, blow your nose. Then the lavatory."

She got Charlotte settled back in bed and sat by her side holding her hand. The dark behind Charlotte's eyelids seemed friendly now, and she let herself down into it, like settling into a warm bath. Suddenly she remembered that Clare hadn't been there during the séance. How had she known about Arthur's voice?

"No," said the nurse. "Sleep now."

Emily. Emily must have told Clare. And on that thought, Charlotte was asleep.

When she woke up the next morning, it was almost nine, and Nurse Novicki was gone. The youngest house mistress, Miss Bradley, brought Charlotte a simple breakfast of porridge, milk, and more applesauce. Charlotte ate the porridge dutifully, then stirred the applesauce around without seeing it. The horrors of the nightmare were fading, but the urgency was as strong as ever. Clare was dying, back in 1918, dying alone. Charlotte was supposed to do something about it. But what?

"How's your stomach, Charlotte?" asked Miss Bradley.

"Much better, Miss Bradley, but I'm not very hungry."

"Well, we'll let it go for now. That Polish nurse said you woke with a nightmare."

"Yes, Miss Bradley," said Charlotte. She didn't want to discuss it. She had to save her energy for the doctor. Doctors were scientific, and what had been happening wasn't likely to be something that could be cured with medicine.

"Charlotte, couldn't you have told me you were having nightmares? I know Elizabeth is your best chum, but I am supposed to be taking care of you."

The answer was that Miss Bradley would never believe what was going on, unlike Elizabeth. Charlotte was saved from having to reply by the arrival of Nurse Owens. "Charlotte, you've not finished your breakfast. Miss Bradley, I need her to eat and then wash. The doctor is due in an hour. You'd best go."

Miss Bradley went pink and rather tearful. "I was…."

"Yes, Miss?" said Nurse Owens, her voice quite polite but also very firm.

"Right," said Miss Bradley, after a moment. She drew herself up and took a breath. "I hope you have good news from the doctor, Charlotte. I'll be by later."

Nurse Owens shook her head at the house mistress' retreating back. Then, as the outer door of the infirmary shut, she patted the coverlet over Charlotte's legs. "Silly woman. As though a girl in your situation needs to worry about a grown woman's feelings! I know you don't want the applesauce, my dear. Go wash up, and I'll clear this away and get you some fresh bedding. Yes, put on your dressing gown. There's fresh pajamas on the hook in the bathroom; change after you wash. Your friend brought them down. She said to tell you, she'll be by after Sunday chapel."

Charlotte was sitting up in bed when the doctor came. As Nurse Owens ushered her into the room, Charlotte saw a short, stout woman in a tweed skirt and coat, with sensible shoes and greying dark hair cut short. She had silver-framed spectacles, and something about the angle of her head made Charlotte's heart clench. "Thank you, Nurse," said the doctor, and her voice was deep, impressive, and booming.

"Bunty!" said Charlotte.

Nurse Owens looked shocked. "That's Dr. Bunter, dear!" she said.

The doctor stared at Charlotte, and then her glance wavered. Charlotte realized that this grown-up Bunty had seen the lead soldiers. The woman cleared her throat and spoke: "That's quite all right, Nurse. I understand that this young woman has been sleeping very badly. If you will leave us, I will examine her and see whether I can help."

As soon as the door was shut, Dr. Bunter came right over to Charlotte's bedside. "Who are you?"

"I'm Charlotte Makepeace, but you used to know me as Clare Moby. You were best friends with Clare's little sister Emily. The morning I first met you, I let you have half my bread and margarine."

Dr. Bunter seemed to waver, as though she might fall. She sat down heavily in the chair at Charlotte's bedside. "That's … astonishing. How can this be?"

And Charlotte told her.

"Dear God," said Dr. Bunter, low in her throat. Her eyes were closed. "Yes, that day when you caught me and Emily on the bridge… and the day I heard that my father died. You should not have known those details. How extraordinary." She inhaled deeply, as though fighting back tears, and then her face smoothed out. "But what about you, young woman?"

"You know that Clare died, only a few days after I came back here."

"Yes, she died just before dawn. It's not uncommon for patients to pass on at that time."

"She was all alone when she died," said Charlotte. Her throat hurt, as though she were on the verge of tears herself.

"I suppose she might have been," said Dr. Bunter. "A number of students were ill; the nurse was exhausted. Are you being … haunted by Clare's experience?"

"I suppose I am." 

"I must confess that I am out of my league here," said the doctor. "I am not an exorcist."

"What's that?" asked Charlotte.

"As I understand it, an exorcist is a person who knows how to drive off evil spirits and ghosts."

Outside the door, Charlotte heard Elizabeth's voice. She sounded as though she were pleading with Nurse Owens. Charlotte realized that morning chapel was over; Elizabeth must have cut along to the infirmary to see how Charlotte was doing. "Please, Dr. Bunter, my friend Elizabeth is in the office with Nurse Owens. She came to know Clare when Clare was here in my place. And she's very clever. She realized what was happening last year, all on her own. Might she come in? She may have some ideas."

Dr. Bunter got up and opened the door. She had a low-voiced conversation with Nurse Owens. Elizabeth came in, looking pleased and worried at the same time. "That doctor is convincing Nurse Owens that I can help with you. She's a bit of an odd duck, isn't she? The doctor, I mean."

"She's Bunty. Emily's friend."

"What!"

"No, she is, truly. So I've told her everything. She believed me because I knew things I couldn't have known otherwise."

"Can she do anything about what's happening to you?" asked Elizabeth.

At that point Dr. Bunter returned and shut the door. "I'm not certain, Elizabeth. From what I've overheard, Charlotte has explained who I am. She thought you might have some ideas. I know a great deal about the health and emotions of young women, but I am not an exorcist. That means—"

"I know," said Elizabeth. She flushed as she realized she had interrupted the doctor. "I'm sorry to have jumped in like that. But I read a book, all about ghosts and hauntings."

"Yes, a haunting is what Charlotte seems to be experiencing, wouldn't you say?" Dr. Bunter spoke quite respectfully, almost as though Elizabeth were another doctor.

"Yes, now that you say that, I think so. Ghosts come mostly because they weren't able to finish something at the time of their deaths. There are lots of stories about ghosts of people who were murdered, who want to have revenge on their murderers. But there are other reasons. Also, sometimes spirits become restless because something important to them has been disturbed. Oh!"

"What?" Dr. Bunter and Charlotte spoke almost as one voice.

"The building renovations upstairs! The room we had last year, the one that Clare was in, too: it's been made over into a linen room, with shelves and ironing boards and things. And they took the bed off to the rubbish tip."

"Elizabeth! You never told me that," Charlotte protested.

"I only found out on Friday," said Elizabeth. "I was going by the room and decided to take a look. Mrs. Deere was in there, folding sheets and putting them up. I asked her what had become of the beds and dressers. She told me that bed was so old, they decided it wasn't worth repairing any longer."

"There's something else you ought to know, both of you," said Dr. Bunter. "I just remembered the date of Clare's death: it's tomorrow morning. And now the room is empty: no other girls sleeping there. Perhaps the combination of the date and the lack of peaceful human presences in that important space have wakened her spirit."

"Maybe that's why she's so lonely," said Charlotte.

"I shouldn't wonder." said Elizabeth. "I've thought of something. What if we went up there near the time of her death, with a prayer book, and told her we would sit with her, and maybe say a prayer. The book I read said that unless the ghost is angry, you can often persuade them it's all right to go on to the afterlife, or heaven, or wherever they go."

Dr. Bunter nodded. "I will tell Nurse Owens that I am going to stay overnight with you, much as Nurse Novicki did last night, in the hopes of catching you in your nightmare and being able to thus determine what is disturbing you so. I will say I would like Elizabeth to stay as well, to soothe you by her familiar presence. And I will indeed wake you, an hour before Clare's death time, or if you have a nightmare, whichever comes first. Then I will escort you upstairs."

Elizabeth was frowning a bit as she listened. "Dr. Bunter, I must say, you're taking this all very calmly. I would have thought a doctor would be outraged and not believe this sort of thing."

Dr. Bunter smiled, a wry expression. 'You're not wrong, Elizabeth. I have trained in psychology of the young. You may well know that psychology is the science of the mind, how it functions, how it can become disturbed or ill, and how to treat it. If I thought that all that Charlotte has told me here today was a delusion, I still might propose that she face her fears in this fashion, and so deal with them by the action of speaking with the imaginary ghost and praying for it. So I feel this is a reasonable course to follow, either way."

"What do we do now?" asked Charlotte.

"I will arrange matters with Nurse Owens. We must have a third bed in this room. I will go home for my dinner and take a nap, then join you after supper. You, Charlotte, must try to nap as well. I don't imagine Elizabeth will be able to compose herself to do the same, but I would recommend that you take some sort of rest. Goodbye for now. I will see you both this evening." She went out and shut the door behind her.

"She's quite amazing, isn't she, Charlotte?" said Elizabeth. "I can't believe she's Clare and Emily's Bunty. I suppose she always stayed near where she had gone to school, or came back after she did her medical training. Still, it's a huge coincidence."

"Perhaps it's not a coincidence," said Charlotte. "Perhaps Clare's spirit has kept her here."

"Rather a sad thought!" Elizabeth said. "You look a bit brighter, Charlotte."

"It's like I've been carrying something very heavy, and now you and Dr. Bunter are helping me carry it," said Charlotte.

The afternoon passed slowly but peacefully. Nurse Owens allowed Elizabeth to eat her dinner with Charlotte, and Charlotte slept for a couple of hours afterward. The rest of the day was spent in slightly melancholy solitude. The porters moved in the camp bed for Elizabeth after supper, and Elizabeth came down with an overnight bag and her own pillow just before Dr. Bunter returned.

"This is rather jolly," said Elizabeth, as they all settled down to read in their beds. "It shouldn't be, because we're dealing with ghosts and death, but it is."

"I understand what you mean," said Dr. Bunter, cosy-looking in a flannel gown. "But how do you feel about it, Charlotte?"

"A bit like the night before an exam," said Charlotte. "But I'm glad I have company."

Despite her worries, she fell asleep quickly. Then she was awake, but she could not open her eyes. The bed was hard and cold beneath her, and her icy hands lay outside the coverlet. She could not move them. A heavy weight upon her chest pinned her down, pressing her into the chill slab beneath her. So cold, so still, so very much alone … .

"Charlotte," said a gentle voice. "Wake up."

_I'm Clare_ , she thought, but then a warm hand squeezed one of hers, and she knew that was wrong. She was Charlotte, and she remembered everything. "What time is it?" she whispered.

"Almost time for me to wake you anyway," said Dr. Bunter. "Here, put this jersey over your pajamas, and then your dressing gown. Now, socks before slippers. There."

Elizabeth was already similarly bundled up, with a pocket torch in her hand. She looked tousled but alert. Dr. Bunter was wrapped up in a plaid dressing gown. They left the room, dimly lit by Charlotte's reading lamp, and closed the door behind them. Then they crept down the corridor and up the stairs. The air was chilly and still, yet for Charlotte, it was filled with the sense of the dozens of sleeping girls and house mistresses. The very school seemed to breathe in its sleep, slowly and deeply.

Dr. Bunter left them at the linen room, pulling her own sleek little pencil torch from her dressing-gown pocket. "Good luck," she whispered. "I'll come for you when dawn breaks."

Elizabeth pulled Charlotte into the room and shut the door quietly. Charlotte shivered: it seemed much colder in here. Elizabeth glanced at her and whispered, "Just a moment." She pulled a blanket from a shelf and rolled up into a long sausage, then pressed it against the bottom of the door. Charlotte realized that she was hiding the torch light from anyone who should wander by. "That's clever," she breathed.

Her friend smiled and then pulled down several more blankets. "I think the bed was about here," she whispered. "Right?"

"Close enough."

Elizabeth made a nest of blankets on the floor and patted it. "Right here. We'll both sit."

Charlotte folded up on the floor beside her. Elizabeth put the torch on the floor, pointing away from the door, and put an arm around Charlotte. "All right," she said. "Now we wait."

The cold seemed to increase, although Charlotte could feel Elizabeth's warmth beside her. Cold, so cold, and so alone.

No, Clare, thought Charlotte. I'm here. We're here.

_Emily?_

No. Charlotte. And Elizabeth. You remember Elizabeth? From Charlotte's time?

_I remember_ , said the cold breath of a voice.

"Do you hear her?" Charlotte whispered.

"No. She's talking to you?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes. She said she remembers you."

"Talk to her more. Tell her we'll stay with her until she's ready to go."

Clare, we're here with you. We'll stay until you go to sleep.

_Where's Emily?_

Charlotte swallowed, wondering what the right thing to say was. Emily's fine, Clare. I met her daughter, in my time.

There was a stillness. Then: _In your time? She's grown up? She has children?_

Yes, Clare.

The chill lessened, just a bit. It was as though Clare were smiling. _She said she'd never have children. Silly Emily._

Yes. And I've met Bunty. She's a doctor.

_Oh! ___

The odd little conversation went on, but the gaps between Charlotte's remarks and Clare's responses grew longer and longer. Then: _Charlotte, I'm so cold and so frightened!_

The chill came back as strong as ever. Charlotte's eyes were drifting shut, and the strength seemed to be running out of her bones. Elizabeth's arm tightened around her. "Charlotte, wake up!" 

Charlotte gasped and then pinched the web of one thumb with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. Clare, I'm right here. Don't be frightened.

From outside the covered window, there was a sudden sweet sound: a thread of birdsong. Dawn was coming.

"Let's sing to her, Charlotte," whispered Elizabeth.

"Sing?"

"We'll sing 'Morning Has Broken,' It's a hymn, isn't it?"

Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth sang softly: "Morning has broken like the first morning … ."

The cold was fading. Charlotte joined in: "Blackbird has spoken like the first bird."

"Praise for the singing  
Praise for the morning  
Praise for them springing fresh from the world."

_That's pretty,_ said the spirit that was Clare.

And on the last notes, the cold was gone.

The door of the linen room opened, revealing Dr. Bunter's worried face. "Good morning, girls," she whispered.

"Goodbye, Clare," whispered Charlotte, and burst into tears.

And that was really all, except for what happened with Charlotte's piano lessons.

Charlotte took several days to recover from the experience with Clare's death. Dr. Bunter didn't pronounce her fit enough for part-time lessons until Thursday, and so Charlotte didn't see the music teacher until the following week. Both of them were quite surprised at how much progress Charlotte had managed to make, even though she had been unable to practice. "Well done, Charlotte! I think it's time to give you something more than exercises and school scribbles." She flipped through a stack of slim volumes of music and extracted one. "Here. Try this."

_Bagatelle No. 25 in A minor ("Für Elise")_ was the title of the piece. Ordinarily, Charlotte would have been terrified of playing a new song cold, but now her hands reached for the keys, and something inside her stretched and relaxed, like a cat in a sunbeam. Slowly she picked out the right-hand part.

"That's it," said the music teacher. "Let's try it with the left now."

Charlotte played, and wondered. When the teacher left, she took down the sheet music and ran her finger over the notes, marveling at how she could read them. It was almost as though someone was translating them for her. 

"Hello again, Clare," Charlotte said, softly.

She slipped the sheet music into the case with her Czerny piano exercise books and went off to tea, cradling the new piece to her like a child with a beloved toy.

**Author's Note:**

>   * Those of us who know _Morning Has Broken_ may know it primarily from [Cat Stevens' 1971 recording](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0TInLOJuUM) (YouTube link). which made it into the Top 10 in many English-speaking markets and so occasionally shows up on the radio, in playlists, and so on. But it was written as a hymn, and Charlotte and Elizabeth could have known it in that context. However, unless it had been played on one of the days that Clare was in Charlotte's time, Clare would not have heard it: the children's author Eleanor Farjeon wrote the lyrics and set them to a traditional tune for a hymn anthology published in 1931.
>   * To my surprise, it turns out that "Bunty" as a nickname has nothing to do with any surname. Instead, it's sometimes given in Britain to a plump child and comes from roots related to plumpness/roundness. But I've given our Bunty/Marjorie a surname that could have been the source of her nickname, in case other people have made the same assumption I did.
>   * Nurse Novicki's lullaby is from [this site, Concertina Music](https://www.concertinamusic.com/music/polishlullaby.txt). At least part of the song seems to be from a genuine Polish lullaby.
> 



End file.
